


He Told Me I Was Holy

by SeventhStrife



Series: Brownham AU's [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Beverly Is A Good Bro, Beverly Katz is the Best, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Living Together, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Smut, Weird dreams, Will Graham & Beverly Katz Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-17 18:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10599282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventhStrife/pseuds/SeventhStrife
Summary: It's been six months since the escape of The Arsonist and the kidnapping of a powerful Class Four mutant. Will and Matthew have carved out a new life for themselves, but it takes a fresh pair of eyes and a new perspective to help resolve the tension between them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. I've had most of this story written longer than I care to admit. I decided to start posting it and, hopefully, the motivation to finish will seize me.

Beverly doesn’t expect the inquisition.

And she’s supposed to be smart. This is the FBI.

_ How would you describe the relationship between yourself and the Class Four that escaped custody? What exactly happened when you discovered the absence of both the Arsonist and the Class Four from the holding cell? Did you have any inclination that he was maintaining contact with the Arsonist? Did the Class Four ever express dissatisfaction or feelings of resentment during his detainment? _

For two months, Beverly is monitored, under suspicion, and questioned within an inch of her life. And she loves Will, she does. He’s the brother she never had and only wanted once they’d met, but...there are times when she wants to confess. 

How could she not? Not out of any misplaced guilt for lying or loyalty to the FBI, but simply because the Arsonist is a stranger, is  _ worse  _ than a perfect stranger because everyone knows exactly what he’s capable of. A man who kills seemingly for pleasure, who revels in burning people  _ alive,  _ treats mass murders like some sick game.

_ This  _ is the man she trusted with someone she loves like the most beloved member of her family. Will could be dead, burnt to a crisp, nothing but ash in some alley, and maybe she’ll never know.

When her thoughts turn this bleak she can only just barely keep from succumbing by remembering how strong Will is, how smart, and how powerful. She’s never lost faith in him before, and won’t now, not when the stakes are this high.

Beverly works, meets every interrogation tactic the FBI have up their sleeve with cool, blank resolve, and tries to keep from sprouting gray in her hair. This goes on for another four months before the heavy yoke of the FBI’s suspicion lifts and Beverly no longer has to pretend not to notice the car that trails her to work and back or the agent of the week tasked with following her into any and every building.

It’s late at night and Beverly is alone in the heart of the BAU, analyzing hair tissue. After hours of staring through the tiny lens of a microscope, changing and re-changing samples beneath the bright, harsh fluorescent lights, her earlier headache is on the edge of evolving into a full-blown migraine.

But she’s  _ so  _ close, she can feel it, the evidence is  _ here, _ she  _ knows  _ it…

“Planning to stay all night?”

Startled, Beverly looks up and straight into the amused dark eyes of Jack Crawford who stands in the doorway, jacket draped over his arm. He must be on his way out.

Forced to uncurl from her hunch, Beverly straightens with a stretch, wincing at the pull on her abused muscles and the worrisome cracks her spine makes.

“I’m not  _ trying  _ to,” she says wryly. She gestures at her spread of tissues and scientific apparatuses with frustration. “The evidence isn’t cooperating.”

Jack makes a sound of amusement, coming closer and taking it all in with a cursory glance.

“It often doesn’t.”

A pause, and because Beverly can’t  _ do  _ silence, she says, “I see you’re making it home, though. Been doing that a lot lately. Your wife is going to feel spoiled.”

This makes Jack chuckle, shaking his head ruefully at the ground. “Bella won’t be feeling very spoiled until the morning, I’m afraid. She’s most definitely asleep, and when I work this late it's a much smarter move to take the couch. She...does not appreciate being woken up before morning.”

Beverly smirks. “I bet.”

Beverly expects that to be that, for Jack to make his goodbyes, but he levels her with a  _ look,  _ a heavy, loaded expression that promises yet another interrogation, and she barely withholds a sigh.

As reluctant as she is to lie to a man she respects, she’s a bit grateful. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t noticed the way he watched her since Will’s escape. She’s surprised he waited this long.

“I’m sure you’ve been aware that the FBI has been watching you.”

Smoothing her face of everything but calm blankness, Beverly folds her hands before her on the table. 

“I am.”

“Then I’m sure you know they have stopped as well.” Beverly inclines her head and Jack sighs, breaking eye contact for a fleeting second. 

“Be honest with me Beverly,” he says, looking her straight in the eyes. “I know the two of you were close and  _ you  _ were the one who discovered the unconscious guards first. Did you help them escape.”

It’s supposed to be a question, but for the first time, it’s not. Somehow Jack makes it a demand, accusation, and condemnation all at once. 

He’s talented like that.

Beverly gives her response the consideration it deserves before meeting Jack’s eyes with nothing but confidence.

“No.”

Jack’s expression immediately turns doubtful. Disappointed. 

“You’re lying, and we both know it. So let’s skip the formalities and cut to the chase.” Jack braces his hands on the table, gripping the edge, and leans forward. 

Lowly, darkly, he says, “I know you hated the terms of Will’s stay here but what you seem to have forgotten is that those men are  _ dangerous _ . To others and themselves. We  _ both  _ know how volatile Will gets when he’s not in a controlled environment. Do you think he’s going to get that with an  _ arsonist? _ The FBI doesn’t want to hurt Will, only bring him back. He was doing  _ good  _ work when he was here and nobody got hurt. Every day he spends out in the open is numbered. Because he will get caught. It’s only a matter of time before we have another  _ incident, _ and then we won’t even have to look.”

Beverly tells herself not to breathe too fast, not to blink, not to even  _ dare  _ think about swallowing. Jack’s little speech is hitting a little closer to home than he probably suspects. Or maybe he does. Jack’s always had a proclivity for interrogation.

“The smart thing to do,  _ Agent Katz,  _ would be to help me find them before someone, maybe even a lot of innocent someone's, pay for your moment of ill-thought empathy.”

Beverly is silent through the whole speech, lips pressed into a thin line and hands curling into fists, and beneath Jack’s absolute, judging gaze, she feels a hell of a lot of guilt. 

But not only that. She finds her anger eclipsing it completely.

“How dare you?” She breathes, hands shaking. Abruptly, she stands, completely done with Jack’s bullshit questioning and his attempts to bully a confession out of her.

Her sudden, fierce movement makes her stool fall to the ground, a loud crash that sounds like lightning in the empty, sterile room.

Filled with rage, overwhelmed with emotions she’d successfully repressed but not felt in force thanks to Jack’s little speech, rank, superiority, age—all of that is rendered unimportant in the wake of the beast Jack has woken within her.

“How.  _ Fucking.  _ Dare. You.” She jabs Jack harshly in the chest with each word, creating a few inches of space when he rears back, momentarily surprised enough to make the condemning expression leave his face.

“I can take this bullshit from the agency, but from  _ you?”  _ It’s not even a question, but Jack opens his mouth to answer anyways. This incenses her more than anything.  _ “No.”  _ she interrupts. “You think I’m  _ happy  _ Will’s gone? You think I  _ like  _ knowing he’s out there with some fucking psychopath? I can’t  _ sleep  _ at night from all the worrying I do. I never used to watch the news and now I watch it every fucking night, I even read  _ TattleCrime,  _ praying I don’t read that he’s been murdered.”

Beverly isn’t even lying, making her confession to Jack both believable and a bit cathartic. 

“Will is like my  _ brother _ and it kills me to not know if he’s safe. I can’t talk to him, or protect him, or make sure he’s eating since he  _ always  _ forgets or—”

Beverly cuts herself off when her voice gets unsteady. Jack doesn’t deserve her tears.  

Riding the high of her anger, Beverly glares at Jack fiercely.

“So, no, Jack, I didn’t help them escape. I only wish I had stopped them.”

The silence is fraught with tension but Beverly has no desire to fill it. She feels like a stranger in her own skin, heart being mad and blood running hot. She feels shaky all over; as if only her bones are propping her up.

For a long moment, Jack studies her, eyes roaming her face and settling on her eyes. Beverly reaches out for her anger desperately, clutching it close because it’s all the strength she has and Jack  _ can’t  _ call this bluff. She only has one shot at proving herself to him.

Finally,  _ finally,  _ Jack takes a step back, re-drapes his jacket on his arm. Something approaching contrition steals over his face as he nods.

“Okay,” he says quietly, a low tone that she supposes he thinks will soothe her. “I’m sorry, Beverly. Really. I knew you were close, I just wanted to be sure.” He takes a few steps away and Beverly watches him warily, still angry, even a bit hurt, that he forced them into this situation in the first place.

At the door, Jack turns back. “For what it’s worth, I  _ do  _ care about Will. I only want what’s best for him.”

Beverly gives a humorless chuckle. “It’s worth shit, Jack, but thanks.”

The moment Jack is gone Beverly grabs her stool off the ground, rights it, and collapses into it bonelessly. She braces her elbows on the hard table as she runs her hands over her face and through her hair, breath shuddering out of her chest and eyes burning.

She covers her face and leans over the table heavily, swallowing several times in a desperate attempt to find her equilibrium.

_ “Shit,”  _ she mutters.

After that, her concentration is shot and Beverly calls it a night. Tomorrow she’ll find evidence to break the case. Tonight, she’s going to sleep.

Her thoughts are a churning mess the ride home. She turns on the radio and hums along to a song or two, but at this time of night many of the stations are mostly advertisements and she eventually turns it off, forced to wonder how her life got to this point.

Pulling up to her apartment building is such a relief that she nearly runs for it, keys still in the ignition and lights still on. She manages to turn off her car and walk, but it’s a near thing.

Inside, the main entryway is lit but the office is closed, dark but for the security monitors. Beverly has to pass her mailbox before she gets inside so she unlocks it with her key, grabs the lump of bills waiting for her, and heads upstairs. Usually, she would take the stairs to the fourth floor, but she feels so drained she doesn’t think she’ll make it. 

She treats herself to the elevator.

Walking into her apartment is a relief, but it always comes with a bit of shame; the whole place is a mess and if her father could see it…

Well, it’s not like she sees her parents often and they never come to her, so she only gives her place a spare moment of guilt before adding to the trash pile in the kitchen and tossing her clothes to the ground.

After a shower and the most minimal clothing she can wear in her chilly apartment, Beverly feels a little more human. She grabs a glass of water and heads to her bedroom, but a flash of color makes her pause.

It’s the mail she’d thrown on her counter as soon as she’d walked in. Peeking from the pale white bills is a bright blue and green of color, a picture.

Curious, Beverly tugs it out of the pile. 

It’s a postcard with a garishly vibrant depiction of the beach. Splashed across the front in bright orange lettering the card says,  _ Greetings from the Land of Sunshine, FLORIDA!  _

Confused, Beverly flips the card. She goes first to the sender’s address, but none of it is familiar. It must be a mistaken delivery.

_ Long time no see,  _ the card begins, a messy, barely legible scrawl. 

_ I know you’re probably worried sick about me, but I’m fine. The move was a bit hard on me too, but this is where I need to be.  _ _ I wanted to write you earlier, but the timing was never right. It seems a little optimistic to do so now, but I think it’s been long enough for this to reach you safely.  _ _ Things are quiet here. It’s nice. You’d love the beach. It’s hot and noisy and the people here don’t respect personal space, just like you.  _ _ I miss you. I’m always surprised when my door opens without knocking and you’re not on the other side of it. Y _ _ ou should come visit. I’m settled here now, and I’d like to catch up. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Your Best Friend. _

_ P.S. Did you manage to grab the blanket I left behind? The really ugly one you bought me? If you didn’t, don’t worry about it, I just miss it. _

Beverly’s cup fell from numb fingers, shattered glass and water spilling across the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Will comes awake from his nightmare silently, entire body frozen and breath caught in his throat. Cooling sweat slides down his back and slowly, slowly, he allows himself to breathe.

His heart slowly calming it’s mad beating— _ in time with wings, trying to escape, trying to  _ **_live_ ** —Will rises out of bed far enough to place his feet on the ground, then releases a quiet sigh, rubbing his hands over his face.

He would blame the nightmare on a lack of sleep, something bad he ate, nerves considering what day it is, but he knows better. 

This dream about the hawk—he’s had it nearly every night since his escape from the FBI’s custody just over six months ago. 

Will’s gift means even escape at night is never a guarantee, but usually the more vivid ones are due to a recent wipe. Submerging himself that deep into the psyche of a madman is going to leave it’s mark no matter how quickly he pulls away.

But the only killer he’s been around in all this time is Matthew, and he’s never once used his ability on him. There’s no need. Sure, Will gets—impressions. Feelings, urges, at times, but that’s it. Nothing deeper than the surface and nothing that should be causing  _ this. _

Will shivers in his sweat-soaked clothes and finally gets out of bed. He shuffles as quietly as he can to his dresser and pulls out a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He considers for a moment, then grabs socks too. He wants to feel warm.

His gross clothes get tossed somewhere in the direction of his hamper, and then he grabs a towel from the neatly folded stack he’s regrettably developed a habit of keeping nearby.

He towels off swiftly and brutally, full-body shuddering even though it can’t be colder than sixty-five inside his room. Once he’s dressed, he glances at his bed.

Sleep just doesn’t appeal to him anymore, even though he knows he’s going to pay for it later.

Instead, quiet as a thief in the night, Will slips on his boots and tiptoes down the short hallway leading to the front door.

He pauses at the end of the hall, where it opens up into the shared living room and kitchen space.

Lying down on the living room floor, resting, is Bruiser. Her ears twitch when Will leans against the wall to observe them.

On the couch, Will finds Matthew passed out, legs crossed at the ankles and hands crossed the same over his stomach. His features are smoothed out, slack in rest, but there’s something there that makes him look seconds away from smirking. Even asleep there’s no hiding Matthew’s calm confidence and penchant for mischief. 

The only thing that keeps the picture from being completely innocent is the shotgun Matthew has tucked between his arms, tilted a few inches to the side. The sight makes Will shake his head. If Matthew somehow manages to pull the trigger in his sleep, that angle means there’s a  _ slight  _ chance he won’t shoot himself in the head.

If he doesn’t randomly burst into flames and ignites the gunpowder that way.

Will doesn’t make a sound as he creeps closer to the couch, just within reaching distance. He quells the urge to stroke Matthew’s cheek and instead lightly grasps the barrel of the gun.

Achingly careful, Will slides it from Matthew’s grip, freezing every time Matthew so much as snores irregularly. 

He can’t help his sigh of relief when, an eternity later, he has the gun completely free of Matthew’s vice-grip. 

Bruiser raises her head at the sound, dark eyes watching Will, apparently giving up on the pretense of being asleep.

“Your daddy is a big dummy,” Will whispers, lips turning up despite himself.

_ (The first time Will stumbles into the living room early one morning to find Matthew asleep on the couch with a gun in his hand, he nearly has a heart attack. _

_ He deliberates a tense few seconds on whether or not Matthew might blow off his own face if Will were to wake him too suddenly, but decides that he absolutely needs answers right now. _

_ “Matthew.” Will shakes Matthew’s shoulder gently, not tearing his eyes away from the distance between Matthew’s fingers and the trigger. “Matthew!” _

_ Matthew comes awake with a sharp nasal inhale, eyes flashing open. He blinks several times before glancing over at Will. He immediately breaks into a pleased, sleepy smile and stretches one arm over his head with a yawn. He’s still holding the gun over his chest. _

_ “G’mornin’ gorgeous.” _

_ Will doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing; Matthew saying something so cheesy, or the honest way he says it. Will ignores the heat in his cheeks and gestures at the whole of Matthew. _

_ “You want to explain this?” _

_ Matthew arches a brow. “‘Splain what?” _

_ “You’re sleeping on the couch, for one. With a  _ **_gun._ ** _ I didn’t even know you  _ **_had_ ** _ a gun.” _

_ “Oh, this?” Matthew practically oozes nonchalance as he gives the weapon a cursory glance, turning his wrist back and forth so they can admire it from several angles. “Got this on the way down. Pretty sure you were passed out, though.” _

_ Will’s not naive to ask why Matthew thought it necessary to buy a gun while fleeing cross-country. However… _

_ “But why do you have it now? And why are you sleeping out here?” _

_ “Ah, well,” Matthew shrugs the best he can from his position, eyes fluttering as he shields another yawn. “Some dumb ass kids got drunk at the beach and were disturbing the peace. Me, being the caring, upstanding member of the community I am, politely requested they take their noise somewhere else.” _

_ “Uh-huh,” Will says doubtfully, not letting the small ounce of amusement that mental image is creating show up on his face. “With a shotgun?” _

_ Another shrug. “You know kids these days. Need to show ‘em you mean business.” _

_ A worrisome thought crosses Will’s mind. “You didn’t...hurt anyone, did you?” _

_ Matthew’s eyes open to meet his, the expression gentling from it’s amused smirk. _

_ “Just punched some punk, that’s all. No one got burned. We’re safe.” _

_ Feeling mostly foolish but also relieved, Will nods, absently rubbing his arm. _

_ “Sorry. I know you’re not stupid, I just—I can’t help worrying—” _

_ A warm grip on his wrists halts his words. _

_ “Hey. Don’t worry about it. I’m not offended, and it doesn't’ hurt to be sure, huh?” Matthew’s voice is still a bit rough from sleep, but his words are soothing him nonetheless. _

_ Will’s shoulders slump and he gives Matthew a small smile. “Yeah. Guess not.” _

_ “Besides,” Matthew says, folding his arms behind his head and regarding Will with a grin, “If I shot someone in Florida it wouldn’t even make the news.”) _

Bruiser, excited now that Will’s talking to her, rises to all fours, tail wagging.

She looks seconds away from barking and the panic that thought brings drives away his trip down memory lane.

Making calming, shushing motions, Will hurriedly, quietly, unlocks the front door and opens the screen.

“C’mon girl. I think we both could use a walk.”

The sun is just a promise on the horizon, slowly transforming the black sky into the faintest midnight blue. Their walk to the beach is peaceful, broken up only by the occasional car that passes by, early-morning workers starting their day. 

Will has to make a warning noise every time Bruiser’s ears lift up and her eyes follow a car, but, luckily, they make it to the beach uneventfully.

At this time the beach is deserted and at its most beautiful. Nightmares may chase Will from his home more often than he’d like, but it allows him to watch the sunrise, and compared to years underground, it’s a view he covets.

On the sand, Bruiser disregards months of training and takes off into a sprint. With her ears down and her legs eating up the distance, the pit in her is obvious. 

Will doesn’t bother chasing after her and yelling for her to stop; she knows to come back, and there’s no one on the beach for her to harass.

Will takes the time to stroll at his own pace, watching the waves crash in the distance and listening to the wind as it glides over the water. After a few minutes he toes off his boots, stuffs his socks inside, and resumes his walk, enjoying the feel of warm sand against his skin.

He left his phone when he came out, so Will isn’t sure if it’s an hour, longer or shorter, that passes when his tranquil stroll is interrupted by Bruiser’s sudden barking.

Will comes into awareness abruptly, realizing he lost Bruiser to his eyesight a long time ago and he has no idea exactly where she is.

Another urgent round of barking and Will is running, shoes lying forgotten on the sand.

Will has to run all the way to the pier, a distance that usually takes several minutes to walk that a sprint transforms into seconds. Bruiser is just beside the towering planks of wood embedded in the sand, warily regarding a strange man sitting there.

The man holds out a bottle and Bruiser, curious, leans closer. Sniffs.

“No!” Will’s voice rings out in an authoritative command, a sharp crack of sound. 

Bruiser immediately straightens, tongue lolling and tail wagging. Her new friend is a little slower on the uptake and sways when he twists to face Will.

Drunk, probably, and the thought makes Will grimace.

“Sorry,” Will says curtly when he draws even, placing a hand on Bruisers dark skull and rubbing behind her ear. “She should know better than to annoy people minding their own business.”

His apology is weak and obviously insincere, but Will can’t manage to scrape together anything better, eying the bottle with distrust. Anything could be in there, and he’d just tried to feed it to his  _ dog. _

The guy gives a dismissive gesture, nearly toppling over in the sand from the motion.

“‘S fine,” he slurs, giving Bruiser a large smile. “Your dogs cool. Pretty sure she was making sure I wasn’t dead, so it’s all good.”

“Right.” Wincing at the uncontrolled emotions this man is flinging at Will, he glances around, but there’s not a soul nearby. “Can you make it back home? It’s not safe to sleep on the beach. Plus, the police patrol here in the mornings.”

“Shit, really?” The guy shakes his head, strands of blond falling in his face. “Yeah, yeah, I can catch a cab...probably. Cab’s run this early, right?”

“I’m not sure,” Will admits. “You can call one, though.”

“Right on, right on,” the guy agrees, nodding his head in drunken bobs. He staggers to his feet and Will is relieved he doesn’t have to offer any assistance.

“Head that way,” Will directs, pointing to the right, where the road is way, way up the beach. “There’s a twenty-four-hour gas station there. Should have a phone you can use.”

“Yeah, alright, thanks, man.” The guy faces Will and his blue eyes squint as if squinting can make his eyes sober even if the rest of him isn’t. “Hey, you know, you look real familiar. I know you?”

Will’s heart skips a beat and fear makes him swallow. He takes an involuntary step back but tries to will his expression to blankness.

“We don’t know each other. Sorry.”

“No, no,” the man says, taking a few steps closer. His  _ conviction/annoyance/confusion  _ are like barbs. 

He points an accusing finger at Will, the one still holding a bottle. “I  _ know  _ I’ve seen your face before man, you’ve gotta help me out here. It’s gonna bug me if I don’t figure it out.”

Alarmed, Will backs away, feeling cold all over. Will and Matthew have kept up with the news, obviously, but after six months, media speculation about that has died down significantly. They’ve hardly been removed from the FBI’s most wanted list, but it’s just not in people’s face anymore.

But they  _ used  _ to be, and if Will doesn’t make this guy go away soon, the careful life they’ve built here will be ruined.

“Look, I—”

“Hey!” 

Profound relief hits Will with enough force to leave him weak and he gratefully turns to face Matthew, jogging up the sand towards them. Will’s never wanted to kiss him more.

Matthew slides an arm around Will’s waist as he approaches, smiling softly down at him.

“Good morning, Mister Graham.”

Too thankful to complain about the teasing way Matthew says his name, Will just smiles back.

“Good morning.”

Matthew’s eyes go to their voyeur and immediately lose their warmth, his smile twisted into a smirk.

“Can we help you with something?”

The guy's eyes dart to Matthew’s possessive hold and his face.

“Uh...no? I was telling this guy here he  _ totally—” _

“Are you drunk?” Matthew’s face morphs into one of annoyance and he gestures to where Will had earlier;  _ away  _ from the beach, and away from them. “Get the hell outta here, man.”

The man pulls a face at Matthew’s tone. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“You’re harassing my boyfriend.” Will’s heart seizes, the way it always does when Matthew says something so huge so naturally. “Now, go the fuck away before I make you.”

Matthew’s eyes are hard, whole body exuding challenge as he stares the other man down.

For a long, tense moment Will is just a spectator, nervously awaiting the outcome, and then the stranger breaks their contact.

“Whatever,” he mutters, and then he’s shuffling away, bottle still loosely gripped.

Will feels Matthew slump beside him and then his head is resting in the crook of his neck.

“Can’t leave you alone for a minute,” he mutters.

Feeling warm, Will’s lips twitch into a tiny smile. He raises a hand and pets Matthew’s head.

“I’m a big boy, you know,” he reminds Matthew.

“Allow me some illusion of being needed, Mister Graham.”

“Sorry,” Will replies, smile growing a bit. “Thank you, Matthew. Really.”

“No prob,” Matthew says sleepily. He nuzzles Will’s neck. “Can I just stay here forever?”

“Hm. Pretty sure our legs won’t hold up that long.”

“True,” Matthew agrees and he straightens with obvious reluctance. He rolls his neck and shoulders while Will watches surreptitiously. He gives Bruiser a wide grin, rubs her head affectionately, then offers Will his palm.

“Ready to head home?”

Feeling a deeper contentment and peace then he’d ever reach with his early morning walks, Will takes the hand offered to him.

“Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I pulled out five (5) fistfuls of hair editing this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

When morning comes, sunlight spilling through the windows and streaking across the floor, Will feels like a nervous wreck. He can’t stop pacing and he checks the window nearly every minute, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes scanning the driveway compulsively. 

Each time the sight remains the same. Each time, his heart constricts with the same odd combination of relief and disappointment. 

Bruiser and Matthew watch him from the couch, the latter exasperated while Bruiser’s head tilts in confused curiosity.

“Will, you need to calm down.”

“I  _ am  _ calm,” Will says shortly. He twitches aside the blinds, peering outside a moment before resuming his pacing.

“All right,” Matthew says determinedly, pushing himself up.

Will ignores him up until arms come around him from behind and press him firmly against a rock-solid chest, effectively arresting his progress.

“Easy,” Matthew soothes, “Just relax. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Will sighs and sinks into the embrace gratefully. Behind him, Matthew is a steady, calm pulse of  _ amusement/content/comfort  _ that makes reality fuzz around the edges when he focuses on it. He can feel the tension slowly leaking out of his body and, as he surrenders more of his weight to Matthew, he can feel the  _ approval/desire  _ slowly bleeding over everything and it makes him shiver.

“That’s it,” Matthew murmurs lowly, breath warm against his ear. Will's eyes go half-lidded, lulled by the deep rumble of Matthew’s chest, the addicting strength of his presence dragging him back from the cliff’s edge of anxiety he had been teetering on. 

Will’s hands come up to lightly rest over Matthew’s arms and Matthew lowers his head in response, burying his face in the crook of Will’s neck. Will can feel himself sinking into a comforting headspace; no talking, no thinking, just being  _ there.  _

Minutes, maybe hours pass, then Matthew shifts very slightly and presses a firm, warm kiss on the skin of Will’s neck and his eyes shoot open.

How does this keep happening? Will's wondered this at least a hundred times and it looks like he will a hundred more. He  _ knows  _ better. Every time he gives Matthew an inch, he takes a mile.

And, Lord help him, it’s only getting harder not to simply let him.

“Matthew…”

More soft, infinitely tender kisses dot the length of his neck until Will’s head is tilted completely to the side, desire shooting like electricity down his spine. His arms tighten reflexively on Matthew’s forearms, torn between pushing him away and keeping him close.

A hot tongue comes out to taste Will’s skin before teeth sink deep into his skin.

_ “Ah-!”  _ Will can’t contain his gasp, face flooding with color, and he jerks in Matthew’s hold, eyes screwing shut. He can feel himself getting hard.

“Mm,” Matthew hum against his skin, tightening his hold as he trails his lips up Will’s neck and across his jaw. He places another kiss just below his ear, a spot he’d discovered early on that made Will weak in the knees. “You taste good, Will.”

Will isn’t proud of the sound that leaves him, an embarrassing whine that’s needy and desperate. Matthew’s growing lust is a siren’s call of emotions that makes Will feel almost decadent and, like always, doesn’t work well with his resolve.

“W-wait, Matthew,” Will manages, tugging on Matthew’s arms. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“I know, I know,” Matthew cuts him off, one arm sliding under Will’s shirt to splay his fingers wide and caress as much skin as possible. Will shudders, unable to deny how  _ good  _ it feels. “Let me touch a little bit, okay? Then I’ll stop.”

Will lets out an involuntary moan at that, hating the flush of pleasure those words bring him. Matthew’s desire for Will is heady on a good day, but when he gets like this, he’s  _ intoxicating. _

Still, as good as it feels, Will knows Matthew. If he lets things stay as they are, they’ll only escalate. Matthew is a naturally curious person and he’s made no secret these past months of his desire to know Will fully, inside out.

Will doesn’t think it’s unreasonable that he’s scared what will happen when they do finally take that next step and Matthew...finds him lacking _. _

Another tug, slightly more insistent this time, on Matthew’s vice grip on him. “No—seriously, Matt—”

The sound of a car door slamming makes the two of them freeze in the space of a heartbeat, then Will flings himself from Matthew’s hold, running for the window.

For the millionth time today, Will peers through a slit through the blinds.

Beverly Katz is walking up his driveway and is seconds away from knocking on his door.

“Oh, God,” Will breathes, ripping himself away. He looks to Matthew plaintively, straightening his shirt and running a hand through his curls. “How do I look? Normal?”

Matthew’s dark eyes rake over Will slowly and lasciviously.

“You look—”

“No, stop right there.” Will makes a hurried, dismissive gesture, cheeks hot. 

Matthew shrugs but has an unrepentant grin on his face. “You asked.”

Will shoots Matthew a murderous glare, then the doorbell rings.

He turns to face the door and closes his eyes. Will gives himself enough time to take one deep breath, then two. Okay.

The door swings open soundlessly and there’s Beverly, long black hair windswept in the breeze, dark eyes warm, and a pleased smile to match the sudden hum of  _ excitement/happiness/fondness  _ that he’s missed so much.

Will’s lips stretch into a grin, his earlier nerves swept away.

“Hey,” he says.

Beverly laughs and throws her arms out, and they embrace.

“Hey,” Beverly says, mockingly. “All this time and  _ that’s  _ what he says. Typical.” She pats Will on the back and steps back to hold him at arm's length, dark eyes assessing.

“You look good, Will. Really good.”

“Thanks. I...feel good.”

Bruiser nudges his legs in a bid to be free and Will pushes her back, not in the mood to chase her across the yard. Usually, she knows better, but with a new person at the door, her training is all but forgotten.

“Hey, no. Come in, before she escapes.”

Will keeps Bruiser from running out with one leg outstretched, pressing himself against the door to give Beverly enough room to squeeze by. As soon as she passes, Will shuts the screen door and locks it. The second he lowers his leg Bruiser is there, pawing at the glass and sniffing at the fresh air excitedly.

“You just had a walk,” Will says to himself, shaking his head. He turns to his guest and freezes.

Beverly and Matthew are sizing each other up, legs shoulder-width apart, unblinking. Beverly has her arms crossed, while Matthew has his tucked into his pockets, posture deceptively open.

It’s like a parody of an old western stand-off and it would be funny except Will knows that Matthew is armed at all times, and Beverly is most definitely carrying a gun.

Will takes a step forward to defuse the tension, unsure of what he needs to say, when Beverly speaks.

“So. You’re still here, huh?”

Matthew raises and drops a shoulder. “Looks like it.”

“I’m surprised. You seemed more like the cut and run type to me.”

“Usually. Staying this time, though.”

“Hm.”

And just like that, Beverly lowers her arms and faces Will, a bright smile back on her face.

“I brought you something.”

Beverly twists to swing her backpack off her shoulder and Will uses the brief distraction to shoot Matthew a confused look. He receives another vague shrug in return, but a smile tugs at Matthew’s lips.

“Here we go!”

Beverly pulls a length of fabric from her bag and Will’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

It’s the quilt. That god-awful, ugly as sin blanket Beverly had bought him a lifetime ago. He’d missed it  _ so much. _ He’d felt foolish asking for it, but it had been one of the bright spots of color in his dull, bleak cell.

Will takes the blanket from Beverly’s outstretched hands, holding it to his chest and trying to appear less affected than he is. Unfortunately, he suspects his smile is telling enough.

“I—Thank you, Bev.”

Beverly smiles, expression soft.  “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, I know, but the next is twice as long.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I can't believe I updated either.

The beach is a little more popular this time of day, but only a little. The rising sun chases away any lingering drunkards, but now devoted athletes, surfers and the like, dot the shore and waves, yelling in delight at each crest and every slip beneath the water. They’re far enough away not to cause any problems and Will and Beverly make their trek silently, companionably, letting the wind, the birds, the waves fill their silence.

“The night I got your letter Jack interrogated me.”

Will winces. He’d known the consequences of his escape meant more than just a few bodies, but to hear it confirmed makes Will’s chest ache with guilt.

“How bad was it?”

“Honestly?” Beverly brushes her hair back, tossing it out of her face as she squints in the sunlight. “Pretty damn bad. Tried to catch me off-guard right after the FBI stopped having me tailed night and day.”

That sounded like Jack. 

“Sorry.”

Beverly looks over at him. “Seeing you like this makes it all worth it, Will.”

The praise crawls over Will’s back and settles against his chest. He squirms with it, adjusting to the feel. 

“Still. Must have been hell.”

“Annoying, yeah. Felt like they’d assigned a bunch of rookies still in class to tail me. Had to stop myself a couple times from giving them pointers. It was mostly just the worry.”  _ Sadness/acceptance/relief  _ came his way. “Not hearing from you for that long—I had no way of knowing if you were okay or not.”

It’s one thing to know someone cares. It’s another entirely to be faced with it so directly, and dismay shoots through Will.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to reach out sooner—”

“Will, I’m not  _ accusing  _ you of anything. I work for the FBI too, I know how this works. I’m glad you waited. If you had written me even a day sooner, I might not have been the one showing up on your doorstep. I knew you had to keep quiet. Just didn’t make waiting any easier.”

Will reaches out and slips an arm around Beverly’s shoulders, pulling her into an embrace.

“I missed you, too.”

Beverly chuckles. She slings an arm around his waist, returning the hold. “Obviously. I’m amazing.”

Will grins.

They eventually settle on the beach, far enough away not to be within easy hearing or walking distance of anyone else, and talk. Will mostly listens as Beverly regales him with her life in the months they’ve been apart, work and family, the odd date she manages to squeeze in between the two.

Every time she tries to twist the conversation back on him, to get him to monologue a bit, Will doesn’t have much to say. Life away from the BSU is largely uneventful. Things are simple, easy, boring. He works when he feels like it, repairing boat motors, and Matthew has a rotating shift at the local clinic. Sometimes Matthew will come find him during his lunch break, a plastic back filled with Chinese food with him to split. They walk Bruiser together at night when the beach is empty, and later, when Will wakes from the nightmares, he can breathe deeply and find peace from the sounds of the waves outside his window and the stillness of the house. 

He loves every bit of it.

After yet another unsatisfactorily short answer to Beverly’s never-ending interrogation, she considers him for a long while, elbow perched on her knees, cheek smushed against her fist.

“You’re happy.”

Will knows he’s blushing. He fixes his gaze on the water. “I am.”

Beverly shakes her head in disbelief but Will can feel her  _ amusement/acceptance. _

“What’s it like? Really? Living with someone like him? Aren’t you worried he’ll snap or something? He’s not exactly the most...stable of roommates.”

“If he wanted to harm me, I’d know.” Will shrugs, tipping his face up towards the sky, eyes closed. If anything, Will’s greatest worry is getting recognized. Every time he arrives at the docks to work, or Matthew leaves for the clinic, a part of Will is ready to run. But nothing ever happens. People are looking for murdering psychopaths, brazenly using their powers in horrific displays. Two plain, hard working young men don’t even get a second glance.

“Living with Matthew...it’s good. Really good. His mind, it’s—easy. He doesn’t shout his feelings all the time. He’s calm and steady and he...takes care of me. I never thought I’d want that but he makes it so damn simple.” 

Will lets his head fall, a wry smile tugging on his lips. “So...yeah. I’m happy. Happier than I’ve been in a while.” He thinks of this morning, just before Beverly arrived, and frowns. “Sometimes…”

Will trails off, letting the uncertainty steal his mind away until Beverly leans close enough to nudge his shoulder, dark eyes displaying  _ curiosity/worry  _ plainer than her mind.

“Sometimes what?”

Will wants to avoid discussing it, but now that he’s voiced the beginnings of a doubt, he knows Beverly won’t let it go, will refuse to leave until she’s one-hundred percent certain of Will’s well-being.

“Nothing. It’s just—” Frustrated, Will hunches forward a bit, running a hand through his hair and wincing when his fingers catch on a curl. “Sometimes I wonder if  _ he’s  _ happy. He tells me he is, he  _ feels  _ like he is, but how can I really know? He can be hard to read and I just...I don’t see what he gets out of this whole deal. What’s so great about babysitting a freak?”

“I don’t think it’s  _ that  _ hard to understand.” Will shoots her a confused look and Beverly shrugs. “I saw how he was looking at you that day, Will. Guy seems pretty damn devoted to me.”

Will looks away, cheeks a faint red. “I don’t get that either,” he says, quietly.

Beside him, Beverly laughs, recognizing this particular sort of discomfort. “Uh-huh.” She nudges him again. “All right, spill. What’s he like? I bet he’s really kinky in bed.”

“Christ,” Will says, voice barely above a mutter. He looks determinedly at the sand, his face red enough to look burnt.

“Oh, come on,” Beverly says. “I’m covering for two wanted men, I think I’ve earned some of the juicier details.”

“Well, there aren’t any.” Will clamps his mouth shut, but it’s too late.

“What do you mean, there aren’t any? I’ve only been here for an hour and all I’ve seen him do is eye-fuck you.”

“Beverly.”

“What? I’m just saying.” Will scoops up a handful of warm sand, watches it slip through his fingers. Beverly gaze burns holes in the side of his face, her  _ determination/concern  _ poking at Will persistently. A full minute goes by this way, and then, “Will.”

Over the years they’ve come to know one another, it’s always been this way. Will letting something slip, and Beverly an immovable force until he succumbs. This time is no different. 

“We...haven’t, okay? He wants to.  _ I  _ want to, but…”

Will’s voice dries up. He’s so out of practice when it comes to this, and discomfort and embarrassment threaten to swallow him whole. The memory hits him, from before when— 

_ Matthew’s hands are under his shirt, roaming avidly, hungrily, and his mouth is  _ **_everywhere_ ** _ , his chest, his neck, his lips, he’s hot, everything is so hot and Matthew feels like an inferno, consuming and raw and powerful and Will shudders, Matthew has him pinned on the bed, and Will can’t spare a thought for being caught any second, the police or FBI knocking on their cheap motel door, all he can focus on, all he can see and feel is Matthew, his taste and touch, the groans he makes as if Will is an irresistible delicacy and his fingers dip beneath his waistband- _

_ ‘Stop!’ Will’s hands fly out, catch Matthew at the shoulders and  _ **_push._ **

_ Matthew, clearly startled, lets him.  _

_ ‘Shit, are you still hurt? Is it—?’ _

_ ‘No, no,’ Air’s not coming, he can’t breathe, ‘sorry, just—’ _

_ Will slides from beneath Matthew, throws his legs over the side and tries to catch his breath. Matthew, mercifully, stay silent and stays away. It allows Will to push back the rising tide of panic. _

_ ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m not—I’m not ready for that.’ He feels guilty, pathetic. Now Matthew knows. Now Matthew understands what it means to be with Will, what it means to have to deal with him on a regular basis. The minds outside, that’s only a part of the problem. What’s within? That’s a whole other story. Will at times can’t even begin to understand himself and what he does isn’t good. Isn’t healthy. Why can’t he just be  _ **_normal?_ **

_ ‘Hey, hey.’ Legs come around him and then arms, folding around him and pulling him against a solid chest. Matthew’s lips find his shoulder. ‘No big. I can wait.’  _

_ Will can’t let himself relax. Not yet. This is too good, too good to be true and Matthew deserves to know. _

_ ‘How long?’ _

_ ‘How long what?’ _

_ ‘How long can you wait?’ _

_ Silence for a moment, and Matthew raises his head to speak into Will’s ear. _

_ ‘Forever.’ _

_ Will gives a humorless chuckle and Matthew’s arms tighten around him. _

_ ‘I mean it. If that’s what you need, I’ll wait.’ _

_ Matthew is practically bleeding desire, but overpowering it is  _ **_determination/protectiveness_ ** _ and Will can’t deny the truth in his words. _

_ ‘So…’ _

_ ‘What you say goes.’ _

_ Will finally relaxes, lets Matthew pull him back to the bed only this time there is no cloying heat, just Matthew around him, holding him close, his brown eyes warm as Will turns to face him—  _

It’s been sixth months since that agreement, but aside from a few slip ups like this morning, Matthew’s been true to his word. In the end, when they get too carried away, all Will has to do is remind Matthew of that promise. And Matthew has never broken a promise. At least, not one he’s made to Will.

Beverly’s nudge draws him from his thoughts and he sighs.

“I can’t. I’m...not ready.” Will’s blush isn’t just embarrassment; a heavy dose of shame makes him avoid eye contact.

Will can feel Beverly’s  _ confusion/worry  _ like a brand. “Are you...scared?” Will knows she’s trying to be delicate and appreciates the effort. “You’ve  _ had  _ sex before, right?”

Will closes his eyes, wills the sand to swallow him. His silence is more than enough answer and Beverly’s  _ shock/disbelief/incredulity  _ are like arrows aimed precisely for his pride.

“You’re  _ kidding!” _

Beverly doesn’t know much about his life before the FBI found him. Not many do. But with his abilities, he can’t lead a life where having such an intimate relationship was possible. Not when their emotions threatened to overwhelm him and he had his secret to keep safe. And once he  _ was  _ captured, well...The FBI didn’t exactly provide him with discreet one-on-one late night meetings with attractive, eligible singles.

“Beverly.”

_ “God.  _ Sorry. Just.  _ Wow.”  _ Beverly stares straight ahead and Will let her process this apparently staggering new fact about himself.

Will glares at the sand, discomforted. He isn’t ashamed to be a virgin, but it just adds to everything that made him  _ him.  _ It’s weird, definitely weird to be nearing thirty and to have never had a sexual partner. 

But it isn’t as if Will can  _ help  _ it. Casual sex is abhorrent to him and no one’s ever gotten close enough for him to even consider anything like it. At least, not until now.

“Will.” Beverly’s hand on his shoulder draws him from the confused tangle of his thoughts. Her dark eyes are encouraging, her mind  _ soothing/patient/sympathy.  _ “You can’t let fear hold you back. It’s one thing if you don’t feel comfortable around him, but don’t deny yourself something just because you’re scared to try something new. If you like him and he like you, that’s all you really need.” Beverly’s gentle smile shifts into something sharklike. “Besides, I’m sure he’ll take  _ real good  _ care of you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Beverly cackles, delighted with herself. 

“Seriously, though, no worries, okay?” Beverly manages once she’d calmed down a bit, still grinning. “Just think about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Will shrugs her beseeching hand off his shoulder, grumbling without any real heat.

He thinks about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One, maybe two chapters left!

**Author's Note:**

> Title from both fics in the series is from [Hold Me Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKnG2d9tZdU).


End file.
